


The Novak Corporation

by Dee2su



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Being an Idiot, M/M, cursing, punk cas, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee2su/pseuds/Dee2su
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean flicked his tongue over his lips and could practically taste the perspiration on them as he stepped back and assessed his damage.</p><p>For the past hour or so, he had been doing the same thing over and over again; fidgeting left and right trying to figure out how to make due with the completely trashed out set in front of him.</p><p>At this point, he could only hope that no one would see what he did because if he were to be completely honest with himself, he wasn't even sure how he had managed to knock over a 6 foot and probably 200 pound mannequin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Novak Corporation

Dean flicked his tongue over his lips and could practically taste the perspiration on them as he stepped back and assessed his damage.

For the past hour or so, he had been doing the same thing over and over again; fidgeting left and right trying to figure out how to make due with the completely trashed out set in front of him.

At this point, he could only hope that no one would see what he did because if he were to be completely honest with himself,  _he_ wasn't even sure how he had managed to knock over a 6 foot and probably 200 pound mannequin.

First off, the only reason he had even gone into the art room was to get his brother's leftover journal.

Second, how the hell was he supposed to know that he wasn't supposed to touch the gigantic masterpiece _that was literally right in the middle of the room?_

How was he supposed to know that the only thing that held up its wings were the tiny invisible threads that had snapped as soon as he touched it?

Frowning, Dean scratched his head and looked down at the scattered water bottles pooled around his feet.

Anyway, the stupid thing _did_  look nice before he ruined it. In fact, upon seeing it, Dean's first thought was that he was asleep and if not, he figured someone had just punked him. Those miscellaneous thoughts were soon swept under the rug once he stepped further into the room, however.

He wasn't sure how the artist had done it but he/she had created wings out of.. plastic water bottles? From the very top where the exoskeleton began to branch out of the mannequins back, the artist had used some sort of crafting wire and then, piled on top of it, were compressed and sculpted bottles that were molded to take the shape of the supporting metal. To branch the wings off, the artist had slowly gone down the covered wire and used both compressed and full bottles to create the illusion of depth. Inside the untouched bottles, which were mostly at the bottom, was water mixed with what looked like white food coloring.

Since when did people sell white food coloring?

Regardless, Dean knew he couldn't recreate the exact image in his head because it was something that could only be seen there and then. He wouldn't bother trying to describe what it looked like either because.. well, it simply  _couldn't_  be described in words. The man or woman that was standing in his place previously had created a true work of art so beautiful that it seemed like the heavens called.

Eh.. maybe it was because of the beating sun coming from behind the window but that was besides the point.

Maybe he would go to hell for it, but honestly, Dean hadn't meant to destroy the literal angel he had set his sights upon. There was no sign that said 'Do not touch the wings; This is very fragile' nor was there anything that suggested that the _near invisible strings acting as stills supporting it from the **bottom**_ had to be handled a 'certain way'.

Still, wasn't it common sense to not touch other people's shit in the first place?

Ugh..

Dean raised his eyes for a minute to purse his lips and chew on his cheek before looking back down. A mix of crushed, white, and clear bottles full of water surrounded his feet and to his immediate right, was the broken mannequin splayed out in 4 different pieces with the wire sticking out unnaturally at its sides.

Maybe he should call Adam. He was the whole reason he was even in here, dammit!

"Wha--"

Dean almost jumped out of his skin and tripped over his feet as he turned to find a man with deep blue eyes look from him to the mess on the floor with a squint.

In the meanwhile, while regaining himself, Dean had taken the much slower approach and his own eyes widened as they raked down the other man's frame with a more than prolonged interest. First, he set his sights upon the dark messy brown hair to the tattoos peeking up from his gray v-neck to the ones on his arms to the--

Wait.

Dean gulped and without thinking twice, looked back up the man's face.

Was that a  _lip ring?_

"What did you do?" The stranger said after a second all slow and- oh hell, Goddammit!

Why was his voice so damn  _deep?_

Dean fought the urge to bite his lip and at the same time, a thick cloud of shame was quickly forming over him. He still felt guilty about breaking the angel of course but his mind had gone completely south once he set his gaze on the man in front of him.

Maybe there was a reason why he broke the angel. Maybe God was trying to tell him that he wasn't a complete undesirable screw-up and that he still had game because all he could possibly think about now was how the guy glaring holes into his face could fuck him five ways till next Friday.

Ugh..

Either God was trying to give him a one up or Dean just had a serious problem.

"Heh. Easy there, Johnny." Dean said with an easy smile slipping onto his face. With raised hands, he carefully stepped back as to not fall on any stray bottles and internally punched himself for not thinking of anything more creative to say. How the hell was he supposed to get himself out of this one?

With a hint of an attitude in his voice, The guy, presumably the artist, dropped his bag to the floor without a care for what was inside and accused; "Was this you?"

"...No."

There he went again with his idiot answers.

"And i suppose there's a reason why you're standing in the middle of it then?"

"...No?"

The man gave him an even harder look and clenched his fists.

Seeing that his stalling was going absolutely nowhere, Dean brought his hands down and looked anywhere but ahead of him.

"Look, man.. it was an accident. I didn't know that-!!"

As soon as the words slipped out of his mouth, Dean found himself stumbling to the ground with a heavy body pressed on top of him.

In any other situation, Dean would have normally been smiling but as soon as he saw the other roll his body up to only pull his fist back with the intent to leave him out of his misery, Dean knew that this was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about any indecencies.

Luckily, he had turned his head in time before the fist could come in contact with his face but this only fueled the other even more. As soon as Dean tried to push the man off of him, he found himself gulping and going still as something cold pressed itself against his neck.

"Woah! Hey hey hey, take it easy!" Dean gulped as he saw out of the corner of his eye the mangled, broken, and probably sharp wire gripped tightly in the man's hand.

"Did you do this?" The other said again slow and this time, with more than an edge to his voice.

"It was an accident!" Dean said coolly, trying his hardest to remain calm so he wouldn't be shanked over a stupid little art proj-

“Cool it! I said it was an accident, Alright? I’m sorry!” He said hurriedly as he felt the wire press harder into his skin.

As the man above him narrowed his eyes, Dean kept his heartbeat steady as he tried to wrap his fingers over the nearest object. There was no way in hell that he was about to be cut over something like this.

“Do you know how long it took me to-”

Dean cut him off by chucking the item in hand to the man that was straddling him but only cursed more once he realized what he had picked up.

Really, how  _dumb_  was he?

How in the actual fuck hadn’t he noticed that he had just-

“Water - Did you really just throw a water bottle at me?”

If possible, Dean had stilled even more and his eyes grew wider. There was nothing but dead silence now as the both of them just stared at one another in confusion.

Dean was confused as to why he had a severe lack of brain cells today and the other.. Well, the other was trying to figure out if he should sneer or try to beat the man under him up at this point.

“Please get off of me.”

“No?” The man said, this time with a sharp grin taking over his features. Who says he couldn’t play dumb too?

“Look, I’ll pay. I’ll pay for all damages okay? I didn’t just walk in here and say; Oh hey! Fuckin Michelangelo is alive! Better piss him the hell off-- Okay? I didn’t do that. I just saw the thing. I saw the angel and i touched it in the wrong place a little too hard and i didn’t realize that it would all-- Wait, what are you-”

Instead of listening to the others soliloquy, The tattooed man had decided to let his little facade go on and cut Dean off by uncapping a bottle near him and pouring its contents all over him, leaving Dean a confused, sputtering mess.

It was more or less a split second decision not to ruin the idiot’s face. It seemed as if it was the only thing he had.

With that being said, spilling dirty water on him was the next best option, of course.

“What the hell!?”

The man rolled his eyes in half irritation and eased himself up off of the ground. The next thing Dean knew, A hand was being stretched out for him to grab.

Dean looked left and right before he clenched his jaw and let the man haul him up from the floor. Silence consumed the two once more before the other stalked back over to his bag, took out a book, and threw it at Dean.

Catching it, Dean’s frown intensified and the other only smirked as he walked back over to him. As if on instinct, Dean found himself with the urge to get as far away from him as possible and ended up hitting the wall with the man’s hands pressed up against both sides of his head and an unreadable glint in his stupid clear blue eyes.

“Castiel.”

“What?”

“My name is Castiel.”

“...”

Dean paused.

“What kind of name is Castiel?” Was the last thing he said before he found himself with a quick fist meeting his face.

Meh. Punching him there had also been a last minute decision. Oh well.

Dean stumbled as Castiel walked away and touched a hand to his nose. He wasn’t bleeding but he would be damned if he said it didn’t hurt.

“What the  _hell?!_ ” He screamed as Castiel took hold of his bag and hauled it around himself.

“You owe me 500. If you can’t pay it, everything that  _you_  destroyed is in that book.”

“What??” Dean exasperated. “That literally makes no sense! I have to pay 500 dollars either way so why the hell-”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Wait a damn minute!” Dean scurried as Castiel walked out of the room without a second glance. By the time Dean could reach the door and walked out into the hall, he found not a soul in sight, leaving him to nothing but his lonesome.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and huffed when the stinging he felt in his face intensified. He hoped it wouldn’t bruise.

The last thing he did before finding Adam’s Journal was look at the book the tattooed guy had given him. On it was his full name.

...

Yeah.

He’d thought he’d been in trouble before but this..

_This._

This was going to kill him.

On the notebook it read; Castiel Novak.

Novak.

Novak as in ‘The Novak Corporation’.

Novak as in i’m rich as hell and could destroy you Novak.

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> From the Supernatural Writing Challenge for August (Could be edited more but.. >_>)


End file.
